For a whole host of reasons, teachers routinely discuss hazardous pay. Rarely does the conversation touch on toxic mold exposure. But recently, as I was cleaning out my hallway cubbies (Otherwise known as retrieving all the pencils stolen from me), I discovered a questionable container hidden in the far-reaches of one of the alcoves. Cautiously, I drew it out, not wanting to disrupt what I initially took to be an incubating baby koala. Closer inspection revealed, not a marsupial but, a small mountain of mold. A less dramatic person would simply have disposed of this unintentional science experiment. A more mature person would have let it end right there. A productive person with a ton of correcting and lesson plans that needed to be written would have quickly dismissed the subject from her mind. Naturally, I felt compelled to stomp around the building, interrupting everyone else's productivity to share this obnoxious anomaly.
Educators are inquisitive by nature. After the initial reactions of disgust, the scientific method was immediately employed including origination and duration. The clear container was examined from all angles. The brown liquid bile contained bits of something. Popular hypothesis included onion and lettuce. "What kid brings a lunch containing onions?" one pseudo-scientist challenged. The incubating koala was determined to be either grapes or cherry tomatoes but no one was brave enough to actually crack the container to confirm our speculative guesses. Fear of the odor restrained further analysis.
At this point, you'd think I'd be done. I'd wasted sufficient time. Interrupted enough colleagues. Put off plenty of work. But no...I wasn't quite finished.
Aware that I often flee the building with my classroom looking like a train-wreck, I try to leave the occasional gift of apology to the poor soul assigned to my corridor. Having known me for close to two decades, George is always thrilled on the years he is stuck with me. I decided, on this particular day, to leave him a special treat.
If you read my note carefully, you will see an arrow directing George to look at the opposite side of the paper where I tell him NOT to even open the container. So I was somewhat surprised by the restrained tone of George's shockingly polite message back to me. But, caught up as I am, in my own busy little life, I dismissed it as a failed caper...looking only to the future.
I disposed of the petri dish, trusting that fate would send me another fun-filled distraction soon.
Turns out, though, that there was more to the story. George, who doesn't have time for shenanigans and is on a busy schedule, apparently didn't have time to read my note carefully. As it was Halloween, he surmised that I could be creative enough to actually concoct a confection that was themed for the holiday. The only thing that may have saved George was my not having provided a utensil. That, and the fact that I am unable to keep a secret to save my life. Giggling manically, I had shared my nefarious plan with my friend Cindy which got back to George during his break, precipitating the writing of ANOTHER message.
IF I were capable of learning a lesson...it would be:
- If it takes a dissertation to explain the prank...it may not be a good prank.
- If the prank has the potential to incapacitate a person with noxious fumes or gastric distress...it may not be a good prank.
- When it comes to disgusting mold, it might be better just to let sleeping koalas lie.
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